Summertime Saga: New Life, New Saga

A few minutes passed as he sorted through the documents, shooing the cat away every time it tried to bat at the papers. Once he’d secured everything, his attention shifted to the other item beside him: the black guitar case.

“Is this the gift that 'Cookie Person' mentioned in the letter or just one of the items he prepared for me? And why would anyone name themselves after a cookie?”

Shaking his head, he knew pondering over strange names wouldn’t get him anywhere. It was time to open the guitar case and uncover whatever surprise lay inside. But as he reached for it, something felt... off. The surface of the case was unnaturally smooth and solid, almost like it was built to withstand a beating.

“This case is weird,” he muttered, running his fingers over its surface. “It’s too smooth and hard. It feels like it could be used as a shield if someone tried to stab me.”

He knocked on the case a few times, listening to the dull thud that echoed back. This was unlike any guitar case he’d encountered before. A thought crossed his mind, causing him to frown.

“This guitar must be really precious to need this much protection. Hopefully, it’s not some sort of guitar-shaped bomb...”

He quickly shook off the paranoid thought, not wanting to jinx himself. The urge to open it and finally see what kind of instrument lay inside grew stronger. He found the zipper easily; it slid open smoothly, revealing no lock or complication.

As he lifted the case, he noticed something strange. Despite its solid material, the case was surprisingly light. He barely had to exert any effort to lift it.

“Huh? Is this thing hollow or something?” he mumbled, but as he carelessly jerked it up, the weight shifted unexpectedly. Miscalculating, he caused the heavy case to slam back down onto the ground with a loud thud, sending a cloud of dust straight into his face.

“Perfect,” he muttered between coughs, waving his hand frantically to clear the dust. “Of course, the dust flies right into my face. Classic.”

His eyes stung, forcing him to rub them as the dust lingered. “No epic treasure reveal here,” he grumbled, his voice hoarse from coughing. “No shining lights, no dramatic music—just dust and burning eyes. So much for that main character privilege.”

After a few moments of wiping his eyes and brushing off his clothes, he squinted down at the guitar case, eager to get a clear look at what was inside. His eyes widened in surprise.

There, nestled inside the case, was a stunning guitar. The body was sleek, with a striking design in black and brown. The front featured a pattern resembling an iris—a rich brown that seemed to draw you in—while the sides were jet black. The silver strings shimmered in the sunlight, giving the instrument an almost ethereal glow.

He carefully lifted the guitar out, marveling at its weight. It felt solid, perfectly balanced in his hands, not too heavy but substantial enough to convey quality.

But that wasn’t all. On the opposite side of the case, nestled into a custom compartment, was what looked like a collection of high-tech equipment: cables, buttons, and what seemed like a mini amplifier. It was unlike anything he had ever seen.

“This thing’s bloated... Is it an acoustic-electric hybrid? But... why does it look so advanced?”

Curiosity gnawed at him. The guitar had a mystical quality, as though it held secrets waiting to be unlocked. If this was truly the “gift” mentioned in the letter, it must hold some kind of power.

“Well, Cookie Person,” he whispered, staring at the guitar in awe, “let’s see what kind of surprise you’ve left me.”

Just as he was about to lift the guitar to give it a try, he was startled by a sudden meow from the cat. It seemed to be warning him of something.

“What’s wrong, little buddy?” he asked, looking at the feline.

Meow.

“You want me to hide for a while? Where am I going to hide?”

The cat nodded in response and began walking toward a spot behind him. He turned around and noticed something new.

“Wait a minute... where exactly am I?”

Standing up, he saw a large white building with a purple roof and a cross on top.

“A church?” he wondered aloud, squinting at the unfamiliar architecture.

The design was strange, and he found himself questioning what kind of church he had stumbled into. Were the people inside kind, or was he intruding?

Meow.

The cat called his attention again, now perched on a large angelic stone statue with wings half-folded and hands clasped together as if in prayer.

“Definitely a female angel, but why make it so obvious? I mean, you can literally see the cleavage.”

He frowned, disappointed by the way the statue seemed to sexualize the sacred figure of an angel. The cat, growing impatient, let out a series of annoyed meowed.

Meow Meow.

“Jeez... you’re a bit impatient, little buddy. Looks like your patience matches your size.”

MEOW.

“My bad, buddy. It was just a joke... Alright, I’ll stop. Just let me get my things and I’ll be there when I’m ready.”

As he zipped up the guitar case, he placed the guitar back inside with care, feeling the smoothness of the instrument against his fingers. He then noticed a large pocket on the front, perfect for storing the brown envelope with the important documents.

“That’s convenient. At least the documents will be protected from dirt and insects.”

Meow.

“Okay, buddy, I’m almost done. I’ll be there in a minute.”

After securing the documents and picking up the guitar case—complete with a handle and a strap—he made his way towards the cat, who meowed at him to hurry.

As he carried the guitar case by one hand, he could feel its weight, but it didn’t seem to slow him down.

“Damn, this body must be really strong,” he muttered, chuckling at his own absurdity.

He approached the statue, carefully setting the guitar case down beside it. Crouching behind the statue, he asked the cat, “Hey there, buddy, why are we really hiding?”

Meow. Meow.

“What do you mean someone is about to—”

Before he could finish, the cat swatted his face with its tail, signaling him to be silent.

Peeking from behind the statue, Mark saw a nun stepping out from the church. She was a striking figure, with pale skin and a long blonde braid that cascaded down her back. Her sharp blue eyes scanned the area with a gaze that seemed to hold authority, unsoftened by her serene surroundings. She wore a traditional nun’s habit—her headpiece, a white cap and guimpe, covered her cheeks and neck, framed by a black veil that draped elegantly over her shoulders. Her loose grey tunic billowed slightly in the breeze, while the black underskirt peeked out from underneath.

Though modestly dressed, it was impossible to overlook her buxom figure, which seemed almost exaggerated against the simplicity of her attire. As she moved to water the flowers near the cemetery fence, Mark noticed that she wasn’t carrying anything except for a small watering can—her Bible and rosary notably absent for this task.

“Oh, that’s why we’re hiding. It seems this little buddy knows when this woman comes out of the church,” he observed, heart racing.

Watching the nun water the flowers, he thought that perhaps the church replanted flowers as offerings to the graves.

As he tried to stay hidden behind the statue, he heard the cat meow loudly. The sound echoed through the quiet cemetery.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me, buddy. Is this your idea of sweet revenge? Getting me busted and arrested? I thought we were a team,” he whispered, scolding his feline companion.

Sweat trickled down his face as he sat behind the statue, hoping the nun would understand that he wasn’t here to cause trouble—just another confused soul in an unfamiliar place.